Sunday, August 23

Our plane descends into Denver International Airport and an obscuring
haze drifted in from Washington’s burning forests. We step into the terminal
and everything is momentarily new, unfamiliar. Outside, despite the smoke, the
air is beautiful, cool and dry, easy to breath in. We aren’t on the bus 5
minutes before I catch the tang of dank, weapons-grade cannabis drifting out of
an open pocket or bag.